#cairngorm caverns

[lumendelmari]

Chapter Forty-One

The Long Road Ahead

1485 DR / Day 42

Ghohlbrorn’s Lair, Gracklstugh

A strange calm washed over the companions as they returned to the tavern that had hosted them for the past tenday. The sound of their booted feet was muffled by the rush of conversation and the clinking of tankards. Lizva was behind the bar, shouting orders to the kitchen staff, while young Vanum scurried between tables, balancing trays of food and drink with the frantic energy only youth could sustain. The air was thick with the aroma of sizzling meats and the tang of duergar ale. Boisterous chatter filled the room, the patrons seeming to take solace in a small oasis of normalcy.

As the group settled into their usual corner, Prince Derendil gave a gracious bow, one clawed hand on his chest. “Allow me to secure the libations for the evening,” he offered.

While the others heartily voiced their orders, Nine declined.

“I don’t drink,” the ranger said, leaning back in her chair and watching the room with her usual wariness.

Derendil raised an eyebrow but nodded.

“Very well, I shall return shortly,” he replied.

Zelyra caught Fraeya’s slight smirk and shook her head, hiding her grin. Derendil’s attempts to retain his elven etiquette in a quaggoth’s body never failed to endear—and amuse—them all.

As the prince lumbered off to put in their order, Fargas kicked back in his chair and stretched his short legs out.  “So,” the halfling began, rubbing his hands together, ��Now that we’re not busy dealing with dragons and duergar politics and nobody is trying to kill us—yet. What’s next for you lot? Once you stop running from that lovely drow priestess and her spider squad, of course.”

“Pass,” Nine said.

“Oh, come on!” Fargas winked. “There must be something rattling around in that thick skull of yours. Unless you just like tagging along with a bunch of misfits for the company.”

Nine rolled her eyes while the rest of the table fell quiet, considering the original question. Fargas’s casual grin belied a deeper curiosity; his hazel eyes swept over the group, each of whom he knew harbored many secrets. . . . To read more: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35100307/chapters/156331270#workskin

[sharedstoriescairngorms]

Into the Mountain - Garbh Choire Mor

by Neil Reid

A dished out hollow of snow, sharp, granite scree rising steeply before me, disappearing into a cold grey void.

A crack, a clack, a rattle. Impossible to identify a direction, but it's not the first stone that has fallen while I've stood here, nor will be the last. I am alone. I feel alone. Uneasily so.

When Nan Shepherd talks of walking out of the body and into the mountain it's a metaphor for heightened focus and perception; here, in the furthest reaches of the Garbh Coire Mor I feel I have walked out of the world and into the mountain - literally.

The Cairngorms have many faces and I have loved - and do love - them all: the lush river banks, the birdsong-filled quiet of the pinewoods, the austere beauty of the wind-scoured desert plateau. I enjoy auld mannie naps on the hillsides in summer sun, have stood for an hour in contented contemplation in a winter white-out. The Cairngorms have been mine since I was a child, and I theirs.

But here is different. There is no welcome here, no comfort. To journey into the Garbh Coire Mor is, as truly as is possible, to journey into the mountain; a pilgrimage not into its heart, but into an open sore, unhealed, raw edges actively plucking at the smooth waves of plateau which are thus revealed to be surface rather than substance. Here is the interior exposed and it cradles not the crystal water of other corries, but cold, hard ice.

For the 'eternal snows' of the Garbh Coire Mor are no snows at all; they are pressed by weight of winter after winter, when snow may lie to a depth of a hundred feet, hardened by a thousand failed thaws. As insubstantial as snow feels when it drifts out of the skies, one year when the longest-lived snowpatch melted we put a time capsule in a plastic box in the bottom of the hollow it has created for itself high up at the foot of the cliffs. The following year, when the unthinkable happened again, the time capsule was recovered - crushed flat by the weight of just one winter's snows.

The pilgrimage here to see those snows of high summer, to stand truly inside the mountain, is a challenge in excess of reaching the tops of most mountains - the bowl of the inner corrie is over 1000 metres above sea level.  Leaving the steep-sided confines of Glen Dee, the mountains press in closer and steeper as you climb, channelled towards your goal,  the now pathless way becoming ever rougher. Temptation beckons in the spacious Garbh Choire Dhaidh, where the Dee Waterfall feeds a vein of life nourishing pools and lush grasses. But you resist, and persevere up bedrock and boulder into the bare bowl of  Garbh Choire Mor. On and on yet, for the boulders climb to an inner recess, a corrie within a corrie, ringed by fractured cliffs of grey and raw pink.

Labour up this slope and you're aware of another interior - beneath your feet. The voids between the massive grey boulders fall to unknown depths. It's common on such slopes to hear water running beneath, but here to the familiar rush is added echo, the sound of vast, subterranean cisterns. Can such things be? Climbing alone, upwards into this innermost maw of unfinished geology, you lose any assurance that it can't be and balance up, boulder to boulder, as though caverns lie below.

And you breast the lip of this innermost corrie into a dip. If the winter snows have gone from this cauldron then the rocks are covered in black moss. It has the feeling of a trap waiting to be sprung by an unwary footstep, so you do not linger but head on up the slopes of boulder, scree and grit, slipping as the ground steepens and moves beneath your feet. These are not rocks rounded by the millennia: they are sharp, freshly broken from the mountain, raw pink still, and gritty, loosely bound in a matrix of mossy sand and gravel. Feet slide, the slope feels dangerous, unstable.

When you reach your goal, that last fragment of snow, you realise it to be a chimera. That the snow has lasted through another summer is, obscurely, important to you, but the substance of it holds no magic; it's just dirty ice, dripping into ground that looks freshly bulldozed, stones on the surface a reminder that where you are, under the cliffs, is not safe. Up this close, foreshortening appears to rob the cliffs of their height and makes of them great, jagged teeth, but you are yet more than 500 feet below the surface of the plateau.

I have crawled between these teeth to escape upward, up through grit and scree, thick, dark moss that hides holds for hands and feet. I have carried on up the granulating scar of Pinnacles Gully,  fingers pushing, twisting, prising through moss and wet, red granite grit, seeking solidity in the shifting, unstable gully bed, to thrutch and scrape upward between granite jaws, watching and listening as another boulder slurps out of its mossy socket and cracks and bangs its way downward, bouncing from wall to wall, a smell of brimstone tracking its passage.

Release comes suddenly. A last chockstone, a widening of rubble and tenuous vegetation, then out from damp shadow to a sun-baked plateau stretching out in long, lazy waves of landscape. It's a liberation that lifts the heart, to be back on the surface after a journey inside the mountain.

Can I say I love even this most remote corner of the Cairngorms? It tests my devotion, this seeping wound gnawing at the edges of the plateau, in its near lifelessness, its damp chill, its raw unfinishedness. But it draws me. If I cannot yet love it I am fascinated by it and, even as my stride stretches out across the open plateau, I am plotting a return.

[graywyvern]

( me / via )

Because of Duties.

"unbirdlike bird picture"

corduroy loiterer a light for Whispercord December gales corrode

rode a pale harpsichord

Rippling crescents.

"THE CHRYSALIS (Anagrammed Lines)

A shy echo splinters those shiny parcels. The chrysalis opens physical otherness."

--@Anthony_Etherin

Arctic Hare in Cairngorms.

a piece of the Cavern talisman & hierodule bombshells in the cabbage patch

golden leaves against gray sky my poems know before i do

Pilgrims.

[ootacampaign]

Adventure #14 - Whorlstone Tunnels

In a strange city of evil deep dwarves who are slowly becoming mad, they only seek a way to the surface but to find it they must satisfy the Flame Keepers’ request to find the derro rogue named Droki so he leads them to where the Gray Ghosts’ lair is and the stolen secret from the Keepers. But before even starting, the group of Caduceus, Aryn, Ikki, Jimjar, Derendil, Stool, Ront, Eldeth, and Eighteen decide to enjoy their first night in many months on a soft warm bed with their bellies full of fresh food and their minds numbed with liquor.

The next morning most of them ache a painful hangover but are still happy to be somewhat free from looking over their shoulders for drow & monsters. Their breakfast is interrupted by a derro boy with a “Candy-Gram.”

“What’s a ... Candy-Gram?” questions Ikki.

The derro smiles with a practically rotted out toothless mouth, “You give candy and I give gram... which is a message...” 

So Ikki hands over some candied leeches he’s had since Sloopdulop which the boy licks to prove its sweetness and tells Ikki that the Stone Giants of Cairngorm appreciated their actions in stopping their the two-head giant and more importantly the mercy they showed their brethern who is currently under their care. The derro finishes by telling them that the Stone Giants’ invite them as guests to their fortress and to receive gifts as new friends to Clan Cairngorm.

The group instead decides to focus on their mission for the Keepers to track down this Droki character, and perhaps swing by the Stone Giants’ abode later. So they head out to the East Cleft in the rift dividing the city. 

There they discover a jarring difference of lifestyle and architecture between duergar and derro. While the duergar were orderly and had purpose, the derro were chaotic and unpredictable. Shacks made from any materials they could find, grew up and down the cliffs of Laduguer’s Furrow connected with bridges even Ikki felt were dangerous.

Caduceus and Jimjar thought the best place to inquire about Droki would be a gambling hall, so they played some dice games while Jimjar & Eighteen pried information from the gambling derro. Finally after some winning jackpots, they report that Droki is usually in the West Cleft, not the East, so they cash out & give up some more coins to the info providers before booking their taxi back up at the “ground level” of Gracklstugh.

While they could have stopped by the Cairngorm cavern, they are eager to find this Droki and get their reward from the Keepers. In the West Cleft, it is more of the same eclectic mess of shacks build up on top of each other in the cavern valley. Once again they find a gambling den, this time a bingo hall that is true to the derro’s insane nature as the number caller does so in random languages forcing those without the tongue to guess and the others with an advantage.

Aryn, Caduceus, and Ikki put their language knowledge base together while the others join the strange dance floor of 3 different bands playing at the same time. After some games, with Ikki well ahead in coins, Jimjar nudges Aryn to get her attention to the derro that just walked in, a mutton chop bearded derro with patchwork threads and a giant full brimmed hat fringed in random baubles dominated by two stuffed displacer beast tentacles drooped down his neck.

The derro, the know as Droki, makes a quick deal with the bouncer for some coins and leaves quicker then he arrived. The group sprints out to shadow their target but Droki is faster then they anticipated and a spontaneous carnival of derro impedes their path. Ikki flies over, while the others try to bob and weave through the chaos. Ikki struggles to spot Droki, but luckily Aryn easily emerges on the other side of the street party to keep Droki in her sights until the rest catch up. They run down winding streets and in their haste Ikki turns a wrong corner and while on his feet a mad derro stabs him in the back claiming Ikki is a wild turkey that deserves to be in his belly. Caduceus and Ront throw some barrels out of the group’s way while Aryn throws an eldritch blast at the harassing beggar allowing Ikki to escape. Derendil leads them back to Droki’s trail to a purple lit cave in the wall with eerie similar colored fog emerges from a fissure.

Deciding to follow, they drop down into a tunnel leading to a three-way branch, finding strange fungi covered figures in on of the branches they opt for the another where they spot Droki just in time to see him eat a mushroom to turn even smaller to fit into a small crack in the wall! Caduceus looks over the shrooms near the crack and identifies them as pygmywarts and bigmies, one to make you bigger the other to make you smaller. So they all agree to take the pygmywart, and turn to the size of a toddler allowing them to follow Droki into the small crack that leads to a larger tunnel with more stools growing near their exit. Most of them except  Ikki take the bigmies to grow back to their normal size but they lose Droki’s trail so they have to guess which way. 

[alexandrasmoot6-blog]

Practical Cosiderations For Buing One As A Gift For X-mas.

There are actually a variety of fundamental errors people make in setting objectives that maintain them battling as well as repeating the very same errors. Most of our team do not have the opportunity to find refuge in a Usmiechnietanatalia.Info mountain or in a cavern, yet all of us should find out the sacred space within ourselves. The walk up to Pressure Rock Mine is actually rather easy once the short stroll up aspect of the Whinlatter Successfully pass has been actually performed. Their range of bikes features certain mountain bicycle coming from leading producers such as Saracen, Trip, as well as Kona as well as among others. It has just a hr or so to climb Teapot Mountain range due to the much shorter course, compared to 5 or even 6 hrs if approaching this off the Gold Ecological Playground. Stifel Nicolaus analyst Sign Astrachan approximates Eco-friendly Mountain are going to handle about 85 per-cent from the K-cup market if it completes the Diedrich accomplishment. Success is straightforward, however challenging because it takes the capability to grow, extent, hunt and learn to take pleasure in day-to-day as you develop to your 5-year target. In the mountain ranges, quickly tough walking requires substantially more attempt in comparison to strolling at that exact same rate on degree ground. Rebuilding in distant mountain range regions is actually hard, mentioned Tapas Upadhyay, an architect at the Hunnarshala Structure, a nonprofit company in Bhuj, India. Our team rank Red Hill as an Experimental Buy and also assign a 6-9 month price target of $0.017 - $0.025 every reveal. Despite the fact that the main aerial cable car is being actually substituted, you may still rise the mountain on the Bridger Tram.

Virtually every little thing on a mountain bike could be quickly repaired or even altered through any normal cyclist and also as you all need to understand - you will spare great deals of funds performing that on your own. Boots that are actually produced mountain cycling offer you really good security around the ankles and are actually a great assets. This showcases stunning hill viewpoints, a variety of wildlife, differed weather as well as environments from woody forests to mountain range tundra as well as simple access to back-country campsites and also paths. A few of the most ideal treks in the area are dayhikes of less than 5 kilometers such as the Eiger Path, a spectacular however secure mountain range path at the foot of the Eiger's establishing North Face. The Cairngorms National Park golf courses are bordered through mountain chains, rivers, want attired pitches and vast stream lowlands. Many individuals brand new to the sport only typically aren't certain which from the many Haro mountain Bikes they ought to select.

[lumendelmari]

Chapter Thirty-Nine

The Dreamwalker

1485 DR / Day 41

Laduguer’s Furrow, Gracklstugh 

The sad pattern continued as Zelyra, Kazimir, and Prince Derendil made their way westward to Cairngorm Caverns. Destruction, death, silence, fear… The once bustling city of Gracklstugh was rank with it. What should have been a ten-minute walk quickly tripled due to the damage the red dragon, Themberchaud, had wrought.

And yet, there was one bright spot amidst the fallout—

Gracklstugh was already starting to rebuild.

The petty war that had broken out between clans was forgotten. Duergar, who had been at each other’s throats, needlessly spilling blood mere hours before, now rallied together and stoically worked side by side to put out fires, clear the streets, and search for trapped victims. The trio did what they could to help along the way, which slowed them even further.

As they navigated the wreckage of the southern housing district, Zelyra’s sharp eyes fell upon a figure lying near a collapsed building. The druid gasped and rushed forward. Derendil and Kazimir hurried after her. The body that Zelyra had found was none other than Grinta Ironhead.

Not only had Grinta been one of the co-conspirators of Blackskull’s coup—she was Laird Thangus Ironhead’s only daughter. [1] The once proud and fierce weaponsmith now looked so small and fragile, her armor cracked and scorched. Further search revealed Grinta’s honor guard trapped among debris. The elderly priest who presided over their Heroes’ Feast was also there. He lay flat on his back, his dark eyes trained upwards, lifeless and unseeing.

They had never asked the priest’s name, let alone thanked him for the powerful adjuration magic that had undoubtedly saved their lives in the throne room…

And now they never could.

“How did it come to this?” Kazimir muttered.

“Pride was allowed to override reason,” Prince Derendil replied, his head downturned. “No side would have come out of the coup without substantial loss. But they knew that, I think. Blackskull, Amber, Grinta, and the other lairds who sided with them… Themberchaud knew it, too. That’s why he chose to attack when he did. It was his best and only chance. This was a battle that neither side could have won.”

“They didn’t deserve this,” Zelyra said as she dropped to her knees beside the priest and reached out with trembling fingers to close his unseeing eyes in respect. “None of them did,” the druid muttered. She then brought her hands to her mouth in a gasp. “Poor Blackskull! She must—”

Zelyra left the conclusion of ‘guilt’ unsaid.

But both of her companions knew what she meant.

“Yeah,” Kazimir breathed.

The wizard reached into the pocket of his robes for the small, polished stone that connected him to Captain Errde Blackskull. He hesitated, his thumb rubbing its smooth surface before relaying the news and location of the bodies. Blackskull’s response was swift and clipped, but the tiefling could tell it significantly weighed on her.

“I will send a recovery team immediately.”

There was a slight pause, and then—

“Thank you for letting me know, Kazimir,” the duergar said softly. “Stay safe. We’ve lost too many already.”

Not for the first time, the tiefling wizard warred with himself internally. Surely, they could have done something more. Or perhaps they should have done the opposite and turned their backs on Blackskull, washing their hands of the duergar city altogether when they had the chance. But a nagging voice in Kazimir’s subconscious that sounded suspiciously like Fraeya argued that Gracklstugh would have been worse off had they done that. If they had not exposed Shal, if they had not broken the succubus’s hold and returned Deepking Horgar to his right mind—

Themberchaud’s attack would have devastated the City of Blades.

And that effect would not have been limited to Gracklstugh. Had the duergar city fallen to the dragon, it would have had untold consequences on the entire trade infrastructure of the Underdark.

“Any news of Amber Thrazgad’s whereabouts?” the wizard finally asked.

“None,” the captain replied curtly.

The link between the sending stones fell silent.

Kazimir sighed. It was strange, given that their interaction with the head of Clan Thrazgad had been limited to just a few short meetings, but the tiefling felt as though a rock had settled in the pit of his stomach. Had the fiery armorsmith met the same fate as Grinta Ironhead?

The wizard took another deep breath and then released it. Around them, the duergar continued their grim work, cleaning the streets and tending to the wounded. There was resilience to them, some stubborn determination to keep going despite all odds. Kazimir had come to respect it during their time in the city. They might not see eye to eye on specific policies—the slave trade, for one—but these were a people who had built their lives in the harshest of environments, who had carved out a place for themselves in the unforgiving Underdark. They would survive this, somehow.

. . . Read more: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35100307/chapters/152830810